Twentysix goals
by LadyTrish
Summary: "He mourned the brave men and women lying in Ducky's tent, he mourned his innocence and mortality. It was in that moment he promised himself he would start living his life, living every day like it would be his last one." Tags to Engaged.


**Hello everybody,**

**first of all I need to apologise for not updating my other stories. Lack of time and proper inspiration had crippled my progress with those two, but at one point I will finish them, cross my heart. "His past, her present, their pain" is the story that I am having a lot of trouble with, since I am sure some of you might crucify me with the way I am going to end it. (Yes, the story is finished in my mind and part of it on paper), while "Walking on stardust" is mostly written, but I have issues with some aspects. I hope I will be able to update them soon. Until then, enjoy this little one and I hope you guys like it. Feedback is always greatly appreciate it, and I hope you like it.**

**Read, enjoy and review.**

**xoxo LT**

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><p>As the phone buzzed beside his head, Tony knew that it could only mean trouble. It was shortly after five in the morning, the sky was still dark, yet he could see, through his sleep-clad eyes, the shy whiskers of morning.<p>

His fingers frenetically searched the perpetrator of the wretched sound, and put a stop to it, and maybe he'll be able to get some more sleep, since his jog was due only in half an hour. Yet, something stopped him from ignoring the buzzing and maybe rejecting the call. There was one man and only one that could call him at the un-Godly hour and get away with it: Gibbs. Burying his head under his fluffy pillow, the NCIS agent hoped that it was only a bad dream, that there was no gruesome dead body that would probably rob him the capability to sleep soundly for the next couple of days. He knew that there had to be a really, really bad case, since Gibbs was calling him so persistently. Yes, they usually had a dead body, but the gruesome ones are always reserved for early, gloomy, rainy, Tuesday mornings. The issue at hand, Gibbs was probably beyond pissed by now, since Tony counted five missed calls and could hear the persistent buzzing. Slowly he reached towards his bedside table, picking up the phone, while lifting himself from the bed and walking towards the large window, still covered with beige curtains, a gift from Ziva. His gruff voice finally called his name into the phone and was immediately greeted by Gibbs's steel like voice. Peeking through the curtains, he could see his neighbor stretching for his run, but Gibbs's barking, followed by his orders snapped him out of his longing for a run, or the possibility of melting into his warm bed once more. The brisk information he received from the gray haired agent, made his mouth run dry and his anger spike. Tony's voice had an edge, while he spoke a few words, before ending the conversation. In a matter of minutes he had managed to shower and get himself dressed for the day.

Making his way through the sleeping roads of DC, at a Ziva-esc pace, he couldn't stop the anger building up. When Gibbs had told him of a plane full of marines going down, he had been shocked, but when the senior agent had added that the plane actually carried deceased marines, Tony had been outraged, furious and pained. It was one thing to take out a living, breathing human beings, ending their lives in a flash, it was something completely different to desecrate heroes, men and women who had fought for their country, keeping millions safe. Tony's mind processed the information involuntarily trying to think how his colleagues would react to this new case. It was no doubt in his mind that Gibbs's rage was more pronounced, since he too used to be a marine. His mind wondered to the task awaiting them once they reached the crash site. It was now up to them to give them peace and find the ones responsible for this atrocity. It was up to Ducky and Palmer to identify and piece back their bodies so the families could claim them and buried them properly and with the honors they deserve. It was up to McGee to hack into every known database to find the culprit, and it was up to Abby to sift through the debris and multitude of information so she could come up with some brilliant clue that put them back on a right track when the leads seemed to elude them and fade into the darkness. Gibbs had to keep his head leveled and support them when the anger got the better of all of them and it was up to him and his partner, Ziva to kick butt and get to the bottom of this. They had to succeed; they owed the men and women who risked their lives for their safety at least this. They owed them the decency, respect and peace they so desperately needed and where entitled to.

Once at the office and after the customary head slap for being late and not picking up the phone, he only managed to grab his gear and pick up a steaming cup of coffee, with plenty of sugar from Ziva's desk. She waited for him, not speeding after Gibbs and McGee, who had hurried to the garage. Smiling weakly she led the way and once the elevator doors closed behind them, they did not feel the need to talk, their minds consumed with what they would be seeing shortly. The lack of speech was comforting for both of them, since they need not pretend that this would be something routine for once. It was a mutual understanding that they had finally reached that level of partner intimacy that allowed them to understand what they were going through without a plentitude of words. The drive from NCIS to the crash site was tense and filled with anger and sorrow, reaching almost a palpable level. Each of them struggled with the bits of information received, and with the fact that none of them could detach themselves from what had happened. They were all in pain, but they showed it differently. Gibbs spoke little and in a strained voice, while McGee kept a straight face and lips tightly pressed together. Ziva was the only one who spoke, asking questions, yet her voice bore regret and concealed anger. Tony was sure her anger might have gone unnoticed by their boss and McGee, but he knew better. He knew her so much better and in the tense set of her shoulders and the gleam in her eyes, he knew how angry and revolted she was by the whole incident. For him, it was a constant battle not to snap at all of them, when information slowly made its way through the tight space of the car. He wanted to cry his indignation to the world, he wanted to hurt the others in any way, so they could begin to understand his own feelings of frustration. Tony's understanding of death had been shaken by this tragedy and he didn't know how to salvage it. Dealing with murders and murderers had never bothered him, since in the end the dead would be avenged and allowed to rest peacefully. He always believed that a violent death was vial, a constant punishment for the deceased and its family. Starting with the actual death and continuing with the constant poking and probing of police officers, medical examiners and even the morticians, but once the lid of the coffin had been closed, the humiliation and the pain would cease and they could be respectfully mourned. No one could ever harm them again, yet for the first time in so many years he was proven wrong. For the fallen marines the pain should have ended with the closing of the lid, yet here they were scattered in the midst of the wreckage, with people struggling to put them back together. Their humiliation had just started and he could not stop the anger struggling to get free from his rib cage.

Once at the crime scene, the wreckage enfolded in front of their eyes, whit Ziva daring to voice the question that both him and McGee bore on the tip of their tongue _'Where do we start?'_

Gibbs action of kneeling down in front of a ripped flag, nearly sent him over the edge, but he bit his lip hard, keeping the scream pined inside of his throbbing chest. Instead, he walked away, trying to busy himself, yet he still did not know where to start.

Hours later, walking into the make shift tent, he was greeted by Palmer and Ducky, swiftly working with the corpses, and in that instant it hit him. Seeing the fragments of human life spread in the tent made him realize how short and fragile life was. Although he faced the prospect of death every day, was once struck with the plague and had so many limbs bruised and broken that he couldn't really keep track of them anymore, he never perceived himself to be mortal. Even Kate's and Paula's death hadn't be able to break the spell his brain was casted into, and he had still clung to the idea that death was only an abstract concept. The fact that he was dealing with expired human beings, that it was his job to bring them justice, enforced the detachment idea he had hammered into his brain during his time with the Baltimore PD. It was only Ziva's presumed death that managed to crush this concept of invulnerability and lack of fragility for a while. Had she not been found alive and rescued, he for sure would have seen life for what it really was, beautiful and breakable. Yet, her coming back with them, healing, resuming her position and becoming and US citizen banished the ill thoughts from his mind once more. It was only in this instance, this horrific count of dismembered bodies, that forced him into recognition. Now, Tony knew that he could never go back to the illusion he had created for himself. Too many things had happened in the past, and now the gap, opened by the sinking of the Democles and the presumption Ziva had passed away, widened, constructing a canyon that could never be closed off or ignored.

Although he mourned the brave men and women lying in Ducky's tent, he mourned his innocence and mortality. It was in that moment he promised himself he would start living his life, living every day like it would be his last one. Musing over this, a new idea weaseled his way into his brain, an idea of all the things he still wanted to do since he had been a child.

The ride back to NCIS was as tense as the one in the morning, with all of them deep in thought. From all of them Tony's mind was the only one not focused on the case, but instead on the bucket list he so diligently compiled. Once back at his cubicle Tony switched on his computer, opening a word document and letting his thoughts run freely, writing down bullet by bullet all the things he wanted to do in the time he still had in this life, while the others researched for information and leads. Gibbs was nowhere to be found, probably out on another coffee run, or down at Abby's, and the others were deeply engrossed in their tasks, so Tony was left in peace with his own thoughts and the black words on a white document on his computer screen. With secure fingers he wrote number after number of what he had dreamt for so long. He wanted to date a Bond girl or a Miss Universe, or drive and Aston Martin, just like the one in Goldfinger, yet the more he wrote the more he needed to clamp his lips shut not to start laughing. His bucket list seemed childish in a way, considering that life meant so much more than riding fast cars and bedding beautiful women, yet, once in a while he would write something down that actually had meaning to him, like tell his father it was ok, that he actually did not blame him for anything, that he turned out fine, even though he had been neglected and perhaps unloved. Tony chuckled quietly observing that even when he wrote down serious goals, he needed to disguise it with shallow ones, just to protect himself. He nearly laughed out loud when he wrote down the creation of a DiNozzo coat of arms, but he managed to restrain himself. It was only when he wrote down, _'discuss Paris' _he dared steal a glance at his partner. Her hair was tight in a neat ponytail, and her face bore a deep frown as she was swiftly typing something on her keyboard. Images of Paris danced in front of his face, along with fragments of their words, culminating in that memory of the picture he had snapped of her, the picture he kept in his wallet, hidden away from view behind his license and registration. He never told her, how much he valued that little momentum, that the picture of her was one of his most priced possessions and that it was already worn from all the times he had pulled it out and looked at it.

Pealing his eyes away from her frame he hurriedly typed the rest of his list only to stop when he reached number twenty-four, _'let friends get close'_. Slowly he turned his eyes to McGee, who was typing at a spinning speed and Tony smiled softly looking at the young agent. For all the pranks he had pulled on the younger man, he cared dearly for Tim. Of course he would never admit it, not even if his life depended on it, but Tim was probably the closest person to the brother he never had. He respected him, his cleverness and his good nature, his innocence and clumsiness, even his geekyness. Shaking his head, he turned back to his computer screen and wrote down the last two bullet points, only stopping when he realized what his last goal was. _"Tell her"_

It struck him, how easily it came to him to write it down. That idea of actually telling her was something that he had buried deeply in his brain and heart; he had never dared say it loud, not to mention write it down. Here he was now, writing down probably one of the most important goal of his life, the one that would make or break him. Staring blankly at the screen he had to pull himself from the path of musing of what could be, what could become of them, once he would go down that road. His mind envisioned a nice house with a beautiful garden and two cars parked in front. He could see the barbeque fuming, while Gibbs worked tirelessly over it, with Ducky telling stories and Palmer holding a pregnant Breena close to him, while McGee and Abby laughed and joked around the table. His mind projected an image of Ziva coming out of the house holding a large salad bowl, while he whisked their two laughing children from the lawn and brought them to the table. It was such a beautiful image that it almost brought tears to his eyes. It was all that he hoped and wished for, but as fast this image came to mind, another one weaseled its way, crushing him. It was one of showing Ziva and him continuing in the same way they had for the past six years. Quickly the image changed, with Ray, taking the children, while he could only observe them from the distance, knowing that his chance had passed, that she had chosen Ray over him. He did not want to think about Ziva and Ray, knowing that there was a chance that she'll choose the other agent, that CI-Ray was a viable option for her, just like Rivkin had been one for her, long time ago, before Somalia happened. It frustrated him to no ends knowing that he had always been out of timing with her. First it had been Roy, while he had Jeanne, then Rivkin and now Ray. It seemed that he had to battle the hoard of men coming and going out of her life, all of them hurting her in some way. Even now, when Ray seemed to be the '_perfect_' match, giving her what he needed and wanted, he could still tell that he upset her a great deal, by never actually physically be there when she needed him to be. It annoyed him, that it was always him that picked up the pieces when she crumbled in the end, and something in the pit of his stomach told him, that Ray will be no different from the others. As much as it pained him to see her with Ray, he really did want her to be happy even if it meant that her happiness might not be with him; yet the sickening feeling did not budge and he knew that at one point Ray will inevitably screw up and he will be left with the broken pieces of her heart.

He shook his head and stole a glance at his partner, the reason behind most of his musing. Her head lay on the table and it looked like she was asleep, but Tony knew she was awake and aware of everything going on. How could she not be aware, after all she was a ninja, _his_ ninja. Turning back to his list, finishing up the last details and hitting the print button, he was startled by McGee's voice.

"Really Tony, a bucket list?"

In that instance, Ziva snapped from her so called nap and dashed for the printer. She beat him to it, naturally, and he could feel his face beginning to flush.

"You are creating a list about buckets?" she asked a note of amusement in her tone, but also of confusion.

As he explained the reason behind the meaning of the term and why he was compiling one, he could feel himself growing red. He followed the direction of her eyes, her face baring a smile, but he could see her turning serious the moment she uncovered the _'discuss Paris_' part and he winced, knowing that she knew what he meant.

Ziva knew she had to fight the blush creeping in her cheeks when she red the part about Paris. As amusing as the whole list was, she couldn't stop herself from melting when she red the more serious points of it, like dealing with his father. Yet her eyes, always snapped back at the Paris part, her mind traveled back to those couple of days, when they had talked and cleared up some of the tension between them. Their conversations managed to patch them up again, but raised a whole new set of questions for the both of them. At times it appeared that every word he spoke held a double meaning and truth being told most of hers held a double meaning as well. She spent countless nights going over those days, trying to decipher what he meant, and trying to understand.

She quickly scanned the remaining part of the list, her mind not registering what she actually red, until she saw the last point on his list, the last two words _'tell her_'. Realization swept over her face, her mind wondering back to the countless conversation and moments passing between them. Her mind went back to confrontation between them in Tel Aviv, when he had told her he had risked it all for her; the cell in Somalia, when they were both tied to chairs, when he had told her he couldn't live without her; the conversations in Paris. It was all clear to her, and she understood what he meant by 'tell her'. Swiftly she turned to him and met his eyes, green, serious eyes. A silent conversation went between them and she could now see, what had been there all along. In those emerald orbs, now unguarded she could see what he had wanted to tell her all along, she could see into his soul, that he had tried to make her understand what and who he really was and what she meant to him, how essential she was to his existence. Their silent interaction ceased when Gibbs walked in, throwing a pen to Tony, effectively breaking their eye contact. She quickly ran to her desk, her mind in a frenzy and she begged Gibbs couldn't detect how shell-shocked she was.

Tony grabbed the pen, taking the list from McGee. He knew Ziva had figured it out, he could see it in her wide eyes and the small tremble going down her spine. For once in his life he felt relieved, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, yet he didn't know if he should be happy or scared. For once in his life, Anthony DiNozzo didn't know what the future held for them, since no variables had been extracted from the equation only added to it. For now, they needed to go back to pretending to being only co-workers, partners and friends and he hoped that at one point he could word what his eyes had told her a few minutes ago, and maybe they could save each other and have the happy ending they wanted, needed and deserved.


End file.
